The Waste Land
by Death.On.A.Vespa
Summary: After the Opera, Shilo finds herself alone on Crucifixus with a price on her head. Nathan told her to change the world, but that's a tall order for one girl. M for later chapters; eventual Grilo.
1. Chapter 1

**TITLE:** The Waste Land

**SUMMARY:** After the Opera, Shilo finds herself alone on Crucifixus. Nathan told her to change the world, but that's a tall order for one girl. M for later chapters; eventual Grilo.

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Repo! The Genetic Opera or any of the characters or locations herein, except when noted. They belong to other people with more talent. Please don't sue me, as I own nothing of value.

**AN:** The title is from the T.S. Eliot poem of the same name. This is rated M for a reason. Violence, sexual situations, swearing, blood—it is Repo!, after all, so no kids allowed. And I'm warning you now: there will be OCs in later chapters, so if you don't like 'em, don't read.

***

It was the rain that saved her.

Shilo didn't know how long she had been walking, or how far. She didn't have any idea where she was going. Seventeen years as a shut-in hadn't done much to help her knowledge of Crucifixus's geography. It wasn't that she hadn't been educated: she knew the square mileage of the island, she knew Largo Towers was located at the center at Sanitarium Square, and she knew approximately how much of the city was covered in graves. But she had no knowledge of how to get from point A to point B, and no idea where she was.

Every now and then Shilo looked around her, searching for street signs, and every now and then she found one, but the names meant nothing to her: Mortuary Street, Undertaker's Alley, Abattoir Lane. _Why_, she wondered, _does every place in this city have these morbid names?_

But that was Crucifixus, the world post-plague. And here she was, a little lost girl covered in her father's and godmother's blood, alone in the world. She was hardly a less morbid picture.

The blood was drying sticky on her arms and back, and her wig was clotted and matted with it. Shilo tried not to think of it. After a while, her feet began to ache in her boots, so she took them off and carried them. She didn't see many people: only addicts spaced out on Z, lying in gutters. She supposed that most people must be mourning Rotti Largo, the self-proclaimed man who cured the globe. She doubted that anyone mourned Nathan Wallace except herself.

Shilo felt her eyes sting, but no tears came. She had no tears left. She felt drained, exhausted. The Opera and the reality of her life now were too much for her to take in. Only a few days ago, she had been sheltered and protected. Her imprisonment had seemed unduly necessary, but that was before she knew how cruel the world was, how little the people in it cared. Now, she was completely alone in that cruel world. She knew no one and had no idea how to take care of herself. Her father was dead, Blind Mag was dead, Amber and Luigi and Pavi were probably searching for her, furious that Rotti had willed GeneCo to her instead of them, she didn't have a blood disease but had been poisoned for years—

Shilo took a deep, shuddering breath. _Don't think about that_. It was the hardest truth to endure, in some ways harder than Nathan's death. Her father, who had loved her, had lied to her, poisoned her, made her think that she—

And part of her still did think—

Shilo felt her lungs constrict, and her vision begin to swim, hazing out into shades of gray. The symptoms of her blood disease—except there was no disease—

"Blood pressure warning. Medicate immediately."

No—_no_—she wasn't sick, she didn't have a disease, it was just the medicine—

"Blood pressure warning. Medicate immediately."

Shilo, arms tight around her thin body, stumbled into the wall of the alleyway. Her boots dropped from her shaking fingers, and her legs gave out; she fell to her knees, catching herself hard with her hands. Her lungs wouldn't expand, she couldn't breathe, her comlink bracelet was beeping loudly, she could hear her blood pounding in her ears, her vision went dark—

Shilo collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

***

The first drop of rain was like the first breath of life. Slowly, so slowly, her eyes fluttered open. Her comlink bracelet was still beeping shrilly at her; somehow, she managed to tear it off her wrist and find the right button to make it stop.

She lay there for . . . she wasn't sure how long. Seconds or minutes or hours or days. Ever drop of rain that fell on her skin washed away a tiny bit of the blood, a tiny bit of the pain. She lifted her head and shifted slightly when a puddle began to form. She wasn't about to die drowned in an inch of water.

_Go and change the world for me_ . . .

His voice echoed back on her, whatever was left of Nathan reminding her of his final wish. If she was to change the world, she would have to get up.

Shilo got up slowly, testing each part of her body to make sure it was working properly. She flexed her fingers, stretched her arms, bent her knees and circled her head on her spine. She managed to sit on the curb of the street, arms around her knees, boots sitting next to her. She looked around; no one was there. For the moment, at least, she was alone on Crucifixus.

Shilo combed her fingers through the wet hair of her wig. She didn't know where she was, and she didn't know anyone who could help her, anyway. She was in it alone, and this corner was as good a place as any to think it out.

Her first thought was the house, but she almost immediately dismissed that idea. Assuming she could even find it, it had almost certainly been overrun with GeneCops. And, in all honesty, she didn't have any desire to go back there. It had been her prison for seventeen years, a cage haunted by a dead woman and a crippled man. To go back there would be to admit defeat, to say that she couldn't survive without her old familiar surroundings and her medicine and her father's watchful eye.

No, the house was out. What did that leave? The street. Shilo shuddered a little, thinking of the filthy conditions and the prospect of sleeping in Dumpsters, but steeled herself to the idea. No Dumpsters if she could avoid it. An empty doorway would work just as well to keep her dry. And as for the filth of the street . . . well, if other people survived in it, why couldn't she? She could prove herself just as tough as the city's poor, just as tough as the addicts and the scalpel sluts and the graverobbers. There was no reason why she couldn't, right?

Shilo looked down at her comlink bracelet, which she still held in her hand. She pressed a button on the side, and up came Rotti Largo's image, projected in a small hologram. He was the last person to have called her. She cycled once more through the call inventory, and her father's image appeared. Nathan looked calm, steady, in his glasses and lab coat. He was so different than how she had last seen in him, in his Repo clothes and covered in blood.

"I'll change the world, Dad," she whispered to him. "I'll find a way."

Then Shilo turned the image off and lay the bracelet on the ground. Feeling around her, she found an old section of pipe lying in the gutter. Metal. Good. She gathered up her strength and smashed the pipe down on the bracelet. It shattered and flew into a million pieces. There was no way it was salvageable; no one would be able to track her through it.

The last vestige of her old life was gone. Shilo got to her feet, gathered up her boots, and looked around the empty streets. There was another sign on a building corner: Incision Street. And a little beyond that, she saw an empty doorway, sheltered from the rain.

It was a start.

***

_Chapter 2 coming soon, and don't worry, Graverobber makes an appearance. Please review if you have some constructive criticism to add or something nice to say. Flames will be forwarded to the ninja hit squad._


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER:** Still not mine, except for Darby. See Chapter 1 for more details.

**AN:** Yes, there is an OC in this chapter. Yes, she is a major character in the story and will reappear. No, she is not a love interest for anybody. Yes, I tried to make her realistic. How much I succeeded is up to the reader.

Significant swearing here, but no blood and guts. Yet.

***

Graverobber twitched an old sheet of newspaper aside, revealing a half-eaten hamburger in a wrapper. _Score_. He immediately snatched up the food and stuffed as much as he could into his mouth—living on the streets, you learned to eat fast. He devoured the thing as quickly as possible, then returned to rooting around the Dumpster.

However, he seemed to have exhausted this particular gold mine. Well, half a burger was better fare than he often got Dumpster-diving, and now that it was free of processed meat, it would be as fine a place as any to bed down for the night.

Graverobber stretched out his long legs lengthwise along the container and twitched his coat around him a little tighter. Even though spring was well on the way, it was still cold at night. Not many people knew the benefits of living in Dumpsters, but they kept the warm in and offered protection from the rain. The smell didn't bother him—after all, he was just a kind of human garbage himself.

Still, given the choice between a Dumpster and a vacant apartment, he'd chose the apartment every time.

He laid an arm across his stomach, needle gun in hand. The tool was usually used for distributing Zydrate, but without its little glass vial it made for a fine weapon of choice. No one liked messing with needles, and a sharp one pressed against a jugular made for a very persuasive bargaining chip. An air embolism could drop a person faster than a gunshot. Graverobber didn't sleep with one eye open, but he never slept unarmed.

He didn't have much tonight that would interest thieves, anyway. He'd already sold his wares of Zydrate, raking in a few credits and a blow job. He didn't like straight-up sex with buyers who weren't regulars, but he never said no to oral. Unless, of course, the offer was from Miss Sweet. Even though Amber had bragged about a new surgery to help fellatio—a Gene Simmons-esque tongue extension, all the rage among the scalpel sluts lately—the prospect of those sharp little teeth taking a bite out of him was enough to turn him off.

Graverobber shuddered inwardly at the thought of Amber as he cracked the bones in his neck. It was a love-hate relationship, to say the least. That woman had nothing original left, except for maybe the toenail of her right pinkie, and while her surgical perfection was intriguing, it also disgusted him. He smirked a little. He tolerated the scalpel sluts because they were his market, but he was one hundred percent original, not a surgery to his name. Aside from keeping him off the repossession lists, it put him a cut—no pun intended—above the others in the street.

Graverobber hummed a little to himself, and settled down to sleep. Nights like this, the quiet ones, the lonely ones—these were the good ones. These were the ones where he could dream, and remember, and not worry about keeping his secrets . . . these were the nights when the rain on the roof of his Dumpster reminded him of a mother's lullaby, when the island city breathed out peace, when he could let his mind wander . . .

And as it had done an awful lot recently, his thoughts turned to the kid. Shilo, the Repo Man's daughter. He liked her, and why not? She was innocent and naïve and pure, everything Crucifixus wasn't, and he'd introduced her to that world. He'd taken her under his wing, albeit for only a few hours, and if he could claim that he'd corrupted her just a bit . . . well, that was something to be proud of, at least in his book.

And she was beautiful. He was well aware of his tastes, and as much as genetic perfection could be exciting, it was girls like Shilo who got him every time. He imagined the feel of her breasts, the taste of her throat, taking her against a wall and hearing her breathy moans as she whispered his name . . .

But his fantasy was short-lived. A loud bang on the side of the container jolted him out of his reverie, and he was instantly awake, needle clutched tight. Maybe it was just a spaced junkie, accidentally hitting the side of his makeshift bedroom—nope. That bang was followed by several others. Someone on the outside wanted in.

A Dumpster was never a good place to be during an ambush, but the thrill of a potential fight got Graverobber's heart pumping with excitement. He liked a break from the monotony every once in a while, and a fight would do the job nicely. Hell, that's what made it fun to scream in graveyards.

Graverobber managed to get into as much an upright position as he could, crouched and balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to spring. He tensed his powerful shoulder muscles as he prepared to burst out the top of the Dumpster and attack. The element of surprise could turn a fight in his favor.

Before he could act, however, the lid was flipped open and a woman's face appeared, grinning down at him. A familiar face. "Thought I recognized your stench," she said.

"Darby," snarled Graverobber, glaring at his sometime associate as he lowered his needle, "the _fuck_ are you doing here?"

"Just trying to see if I could kip in there for the night," answered Darby. "Didn't think it was occupied until I caught your particular miasma." She swung herself up onto the closed half of the Dumpster, a graceful move for someone so stocky. She shook long red hair out of her face, splashing Graverobber in the process—she was soaked, even though the rain had tapered off. "Any food in there?"

Graverobber grinned toothily. "Not anymore. Of course, if you're hungry—"

"Not a chance. I know where that thing's been, you perv."

"Cocktease." Graverobber allowed himself another smile, stretching his blue-painted lips. He leaned against the side of the Dumpster, adopting the casual stance he usually took with potential buyers. Darby wasn't a buyer, of course, but they had their ways of dealing with each other.

"To what do I owe the dubious pleasure, D?" he asked. He didn't believe the 'looking for a place to kip' nonsense for a moment. Darby had her own place, and she didn't often join him in the streets. The two were friendly, or as friendly as two people in this city could be, but hardly partners. Except for—

_Don't go there_, he warned himself. _Leave it alone. Danger zone._

Darby was quiet for a moment, then began cracking her knuckles in her ever-present leather gloves. "Heard you met the kid. The Wallace kid."

"Maybe."

"Heard she's missing now," Darby pressed him. "Heard the Largos are looking for her."

"Maybe, D."

"Don't give me that 'maybe' bullshit. I'm right. You found the kid, and if she's anything like she looks in the pictures, you wanted to get in her pants. You probably did. I know your style. You go for the jailbait."

"If I did, that'd be between me and her, D," Graverobber said in a lazy voice. "Don't expect a play-by-play."

"Like I'd want one," scoffed Darby. "Anyway, the Largos set a bounty on her head. Fifteen thousand credits. You heard about that? They just broadcast it. And there's no 'dead or alive' clause on the bounty, either. They want that girl dead and in pieces."

Graverobber gave a long, slow whistle through his teeth. Fifteen thousand credits went a long way on Crucifixus. A _long_ way. Everyone and his mother would be out looking for the kid with that kind of money in play. Jesus, on her own she was good as dead.

"Is that why you came by?" asked Graverobber. It was more of a struggle than he'd expected to keep the anger out of his voice. The thought of that innocent little thing cut open in the street, like some Repo Man's trash—it sickened him, and he was not a man easily sickened. Christ, he'd only met the kid twice, but he didn't want her to end up like that. "You want to cash in on that bounty?"

"Relax, Graves," said Darby calmly. "I just came to give you the news. I wasn't gonna go after her. I don't do kids, remember? Too close to home."

Graverobber sighed. No, Darby didn't do kids. It was definitely too close to home—but there was that danger zone again. _Don't go there_.

"You just came to give me the news," Graverobber repeated. "Why?"

"'Cause I know you," said Darby easily. "And I know what you like, and I know you get possessive. These streets aren't a fucking picnic. I figure that kid could use at least one person looking out for her right now."

Darby and the graverobber locked eyes for the first time since they had met tonight. Darby's eyes were blue, or at least one of them was. The right eye was a covered by a cloudy haze, the result of a scarred mess across her face. Even half-blind, Darby could see through him better than anyone else—well, either that or he was a hell of a lot more obvious that he'd like to be. They stared at each other for a few seconds, then Darby hopped off the Dumpster.

"Anyway, I'm off," she said. "Got to see a man about a dog, whatever the hell that means."

She walked off down the alley as the rain started to pick up again.

"Hey, D!" Graverobber called on impulse. She paused and turned back toward him. She was little more than a silhouette in the rain.

"Thanks," he said.

Darby shrugged. "Yeah. But we're still even." She ducked into a shadow and was gone.

Graverobber pulled the lid of the Dumpster shut and settled back down to sleep. A little rainwater had collected inside during their chat, but it wasn't enough to deter him. The heads-up was welcome, certainly. As to being even . . .

When you know a person's real name, you're always even.

***

_Oy vey! I had to totally rewrite this chapter trying to get GR right. He was way too nice in the first version. You're supposed to be a cocky bastard, not a pansy, dammit! Also, air embolisms don't work quite the way I've described here, but I'm not a doctor, so please forgive me. Anyway, questions? Comments? Happy thoughts? Constructive criticism? That's what the review button is for. Flames, as always, will be forwarded to the ninja hit squad._


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER:** Still not mine, except for Ferraro, Latch, and Nicky. Not that I want any of them. See Chapter 1 for more details.

**AN:** There are three more OCs here, but they're very minor. In all likelihood, you won't see any of them again. One of the problems with writing fanfiction is that it's very difficult to keep things entirely to the canon characters. Oh, well.

Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed! Your words brighten my day. I glow at the very thought.

***

Nathan's hands gently shake her awake. "Shilo. Shilo, wake up."

Shilo opens her eyes blearily. "Daddy," she murmurs as she peers up at him. "What is it?"

"It's your birthday, sweetheart. Come and say hello to your mother."

She sits up in bed and scrubs the sleep from her eyes. Shilo catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her face is rounded and childish. She is five years old again. It isn't her birthday as much as it is the anniversary of Marni's death.

"Shilo, I can't tell you how proud your mother would be of you," says Nathan. He stands beside her in Marni's crypt, and Shilo is holding a small pot with moon orchids. "I wish so much that she had survived . . ."

_Instead of me_, Shilo thinks as she places the orchids on Marni's tomb.

Now Blind Mag is before her, her strange eyes glowing with passion. She reaches out and strokes Shilo's cheek gently. "In you is a world of promise . . ."

"Get the little bitch!"

Shilo spins around, and sees Amber, Luigi, and Pavi racing through a graveyard towards her, followed by a horde of GeneCops. Shilo runs, but it's like moving through syrup—she trips, and falls into an open crypt—she lands in a huge underground necropolis—

"This way, kid!" Graverobber calls, appearing several yards in front of her. He begins to duck and dodge his way between the tombs, and Shilo tries to follow, but the tombs suddenly crow up out of the ground as high as walls, and the necropolis becomes a maze.

Shilo turns a corner and is met with a horrible sight. A Repo Man stands over a body, holding a human spinal column in his hand. Shilo tries to scream, but her voice is gone. The Repo Man turns and sees her. He raises his scalpel threateningly.

"Did you take your medicine?" he asks. Oh, God, it has Nathan's voice.

"Dad—I—" Shilo gasps in shock. A heavy hand lands on her shoulder, and she whirls around. Nathan is standing over her, covered in blood, mouth torn and stretched in a horrible death grin.

"I will always be here," he whispers in a hideously cracked voice. "Shilo, you're the world to me."

***

Shilo's eyes snapped open as she jolted awake. She was panting for breath, which only ever happened after her worst nightmares. Her heart was racing like she'd just run a marathon. She could call to Nathan and he would come to comfort her, remind her gently that it was only a dream—but Nathan was dead. There was no comfort to be had.

Her thoughts gathered slowly as she came out of the dreamspace and back to reality. She was still huddled in her doorway, cold and cramped and very uncomfortable. Her feet were freezing, but she'd at least thought to put her boots back on before going to sleep, so they were probably warmer than they'd be otherwise. The rain had finally stopped. She pushed errant locks of hair out of her face and looked towards the sky. It was still fairly dark, and a moon just beginning to wane still hung there, partially obscured by clouds. The eastern sky was streaked with pink and purple. Dawn was maybe an hour or two away. Shilo didn't know how long she'd slept, but it probably wasn't any more than a few hours.

Her stomach grumbled loudly, and she tightened her arms around the void. God, she was so hungry. When was the last time she had eaten? Food was clearly the next priority.

Shilo got to her feet, wincing as her cramped and knotted muscles protested. She rubbed her arms briskly, trying to restore some warmth to them. Her lonely alley was no longer empty. She spotted three people passed out down the road, drugged out of their minds, and another pair who were—Shilo wrinkled her nose in disgust—having sex against a filthy wall. As she stared, the man glanced over his shoulder and spotted her. He leered unpleasantly, and Shilo hurried out of the alleyway.

The tiny side street opened out into a slightly more populated thoroughfare. On one side of Shilo was a secondhand bookstore; on the other, there was a whorehouse, judging from the surgically-enhanced women flaunting their breasts and legs from the windows. Neither place seemed like an option for food. But there, just across the street, was a small deli. A sign in the window proclaimed it as Ferraro's. It looked halfway prosperous. Maybe the owner would take pity on her and give her something to eat for free.

"Not a fucking chance, toots," snorted Mr. Ferraro from behind the counter. He was a big man who looked like he had had his whole midsection replaced, but hadn't thought about the strangeness of a beefy neck and flabby arms on a toned and sculpted torso. "'Less you got something to sell, you ain't getting a bite."

Shilo's stomach rumbled again, and she even felt a little faint. The smell of hot panini was intoxicating; she was practically drooling. "Please," she begged, hating herself for it. "Please, I don't have anything, I'm just so hungry—"

Ferraro's critical gaze traveled up and down her body, like he was inspecting a purchase. "Don't tell me you don't got nothing. You got—"

"No!" snapped Shilo. Her face reddened and she crossed her arms over her chest. Not for the first time, she wished she had more than her skimpy dress.

Ferraro shrugged. "Hey, I'm on your side, here, girlie. Just trying to help. What about that necklace?"

Shilo's fingers brushed the cameo she still wore around her neck. "This? I—I couldn't. It's of my mother."

"And she ain't around anymore?" Shilo shook her head. "Trust me, babe, she'd want your stomach full more than you wearing that thing. I got kids. I know."

Shilo said nothing. The cameo had been a gift from Nathan. "Your mother will always watch over you," he'd said as he'd fastened it around her neck. "Wear this to remember her." Of course, living in that house, it had been impossible to forget Marni. She haunted her daughter as much as her husband. Shilo was constantly reminded of her genetic inheritance, her mother's sacrifice . . . and her father's obsession.

He'd been so obsessed that he'd deliberately poisoned her, done everything he could to keep her close, wreaked God-only-knew what kind of havoc on her body. Even though she missed Nathan terribly and loved him with all her heart, she honestly wasn't sure whether she could forgive him that.

Maybe it was time to let go. Just a little bit.

"Looks like gold," pressed Ferraro.

"It is," said Shilo reluctantly. "And onyx and shell. It's one-of-a-kind."

"Give you ten credits and a panino for it. Best panino this end of Crucifixus, guaranteed."

Shilo's eyes moistened as she unclasped the necklace, but she refused to let her tears fall.

***

One amazing sandwich later, Shilo's spirits were back up. Ferraro hadn't been lying about his wares. Hot mozzarella, prosciutto, basil, tomatoes, peppers, spinach, olives, and just a hint of oregano. There was little on earth that could equal a really good panino, and that one had been . . . exceptional. Shilo licked her lips at the mere memory.

She'd even come up with something of a plan as to her next move. She'd try to find a pawnshop or something of that nature and sell her dress in exchange for some more substantial clothing. Her ten credits from Ferraro were tucked securely into her boots. Although walking on them was a little uncomfortable, it would do for now. A purse could wait; more urgent needs were a shower and finding some means of income.

Shilo still didn't know what to do about that. Other than her rather encyclopedic knowledge of insects, she didn't have any particular skills that might help in finding a job. But even that couldn't dampen her spirits. She had money and she had a full stomach, and she'd survived her first night. Things were looking up.

"_Lungs and livers and bladders and hearts_," Shilo sang to herself under her breath. She was walking down yet another alley, eyes peeled for any kind of clothing store or pawnshop. "_You always save a bundle when you buy our GeneCo parts. Spleens_—"

Shilo started at a metallic clang from behind her. She glanced around. About fifteen yards back was a young man with spiked green hair. He grinned maliciously at her. He'd caused the bang; he'd hit a metal fire escape with something in his hand.

Shilo's heart skipped a beat. Dear God, it was a knife. And he was coming closer.

Shilo picked up the pace, not outright running but definitely fleeing. The alley opened up just a few yards ahead—if she could make it out maybe she could lose him—

Another man stepped into the alley, cutting off her escape route. He grinned, and raised a hand. He also had a knife.

Shilo froze as the two advanced on her from either end of the alley. She was still for half a second, then she sprinted towards the second man, towards freedom at the end of the alley. She tried to dodge him, but he caught her easily. She screamed—maybe someone would hear and help her—and he struck her across the face. He practically threw her against the wall.

"Looky what we got here, Latch," said the green-haired one as he converged on Shilo and his partner.

"Looks like we caught us a fish, Nicky," said the second one. He grinned again, baring yellowed and rotten teeth.

Shilo's breathing was rough and ragged. The two thugs had her cornered against the wall and a heavy Dumpster; there was nowhere to run, and those knives looked lethally sharp. "Please—" she gasped, "please—just let me go. I swear, I don't have anything."

The second one—Latch—burst out laughing. "Listen to that, Nicky," he snorted. Little slut thinks if she says 'please' that's that."

"Teach her different, Latch," said Nicky eagerly.

Shilo kicked Nicky, who was a little closer, as hard as she could in the groin. He screamed in agony and fell to his knees, clutching his balls. She tried to make a break for it, but Latch shoved her angrily back against the wall, blade against her throat. He punched her in the mouth and Shilo choked and gagged, spitting out blood and a tooth.

"Fucking bitch," growled Latch. "Teach you to fight back. No more funny business." He bit her ear, and Shilo screamed. But there was no one there to hear her.

***

_I promise the cliffhanger will be resolved very soon! Please review if you have any constructive criticism to add. Flames go to the ninja hit squad._

_Also, can you tell I love panini?_


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER:** Basically, if you recognize it from Repo!, it's not mine. See Chapter 1 for more details.

**AN:** I really don't do cliffhangers very often, I promise! This one just popped into my head and demanded to be written. It actually demanded to go a lot farther than it does, but I didn't have it in me. So I gave it a cookie and it shut up for the time being.

***

The Largos had indeed put a price on Shilo Wallace's life. Graverobber read about it a few hours after Darby had sought him out. He'd swiped a copy of the new _Metro Gazette_ from a window of the Asylum Avenue brothel. He would have read it right there, perched on the window ledge, but one of the whores politely asked him to leave ("Fuck off!"). When he declined ("Make me"), she had fetched her pimp, who had . . . insisted. Graverobber had dodged the rock thrown at him, blown the whore a kiss, and ducked out with his new newspaper.

No matter. There were plenty of places that wouldn't mind his company, questionable as it was. After a bit of hunting, he found a vacant apartment a few streets away, up a fire escape. The owner had been stupid enough to leave the window open.

Although that may have had more to do with the lack of any furnishings than stupidity.

Graverobber leaned against a wall and flipped through the paper. As he had half-expected, the Largos had taken it upon themselves to rewrite the history of the final Genetic Opera. Somehow they were managing to blame all three deaths on Shilo, never mind that the whole city had seen the Opera on broadcast. The citizens of Crucifixus were notoriously easy to persuade. In between memorial articles to Rotti Largo and Blind Mag and speculation pieces about GeneCo's future, there were large reward posters in place of the usual surgical ads. Sure enough, they advertised fifteen thousand credits, payable in full upon proof of Shilo's death. Graverobber shook his head. The Largo family was nothing if not vindictive.

He looked up when he heard the first scream. It was a young woman's voice, and it sounded like she was right outside. Chances were a Repo Man had caught up with some poor debtor, and since organ repossessions were almost always fatal, there was a good chance Graverobber could get his hands on some fresh Zydrate. The drug began to excrete as soon as the body died, but invariably broke down to its basic components within a period of two weeks if not stored properly. The fresher the Z, the brighter the glow, and the more he could charge his buyers.

Two more screams came, one male, one female. While the first had sounded more frightened than anything else, these new ones were definitely screams of pain. Graverobber's eyebrows contracted together. Two different screamers? Maybe it wasn't a Repo Man after all.

Graverobber tossed the newspaper aside and poked his head cautiously out the window. The commotion was almost directly across the street from him. From what he could see in the pre-dawn half-light, two thugs had managed to nab themselves a girl. They had her cornered against a wall, next to a Dumpster. One of them was rolling around in the street, doing the classic "I've-just-been-kicked-in-the-sack" dance. A discarded blade lay in the street beside him. The other had a knife to the girl's throat.

_Don't get involved_, Graverobber told himself. _Not your problem. Not your fucking problem. Just keep out of it_.

Then he caught a glimpse of the girl's face through her mane of black hair. She was bleeding from her mouth and the side of her head, but he knew that pretty, frightened face anywhere. Shit, it was her. It was the kid. Shilo.

_Mine_.

He didn't know where that thought had come from, but he didn't really give a fuck.

The more practical part of his mind tried to reason with him. It was better just to leave her to her fate. It wasn't his job to baby-sit her. The last thing he needed was some doe-eyed Lolita wannabe following him around. He was the Graverobber, for fuck's sake. He was an outcast, a criminal, an underworld legend. He sold drugs and desecrated corpses. He only cared about himself. He didn't go around rescuing people. He wasn't anyone's savior.

But this was Shilo, said the other part of his mind. Somehow, this was different.

Years of living on the margins, running from the law, and lugging around bodies had given him speed, strength, agility, and not insufficient amounts of stealth. He was out the window in a flash, down the fire escape in another.

The green-haired thug Shilo had taken down seemed pretty well incapacitated, more concerned with his wounded balls than anything else. The other guy was a different story. That knife was way too sharp and way too close to Shilo. First thing was to get rid of the knife. Second thing was to rip the bastard's guts out.

It was the work of a moment to grab the thug's throat in both hands and yank him away from Shilo. Fortunately, the guy had been concentrating on his prey, and hadn't even noticed the larger man behind him. The knife clattered to the ground as he dropped it in surprise. Graverobber repositioned his hands and made the sharp snap he'd only ever had to use once before. The thug's neck broke easily, and he fell dead to the ground.

The green-haired idiot apparently didn't have his partner's mettle. He was crying and gasping, staring in shock at his dead comrade. The sniveling annoyed him, so Graverobber delivered a swift kick to his head, glad not for the first time of his steel-toed boots. The guy was immediately out cold. Then Graverobber turned to Shilo.

"You okay, kid?"

Shilo nodded shakily. "I think so."

Graverobber took her arm and gently pulled her closer. He tilted her head up towards him, inspecting her bloody mouth. Her lip was split, and she shivered a little as he brushed the pad of his thumb over the wound. It also looked like a tooth had been knocked out. Well, that was an easy fix, at least; tooth replacements were one of the cheapest and simplest surgeries available, and any hack could do it. Shilo was also bleeding from her right ear, but he couldn't tell how it had happened. He looked at her inquisitively.

"He bit me," said Shilo. She met his eyes for the first time, and his heart constricted. Her eyes were dark brown, huge, soulful, endless. Dazzling. Incomparable. Her skin was warm in his hands. She felt alive. More than that, she felt real in a way that no one else did. How could anyone prefer surgical precision over this kind of loveliness, flawed and faultless? Christ, she was beautiful.

Graverobber let go of her quickly. What the hell had gotten into him? It was one thing to jerk off to fantasies of her, even to outright seduce her. But if he started thinking like some lovelorn Romeo, he'd crossed a line somewhere. The best thing to do would be to get away from her as soon as possible. He had a reputation as a heartless bastard to uphold.

He busied himself in pulling out his needles to extract the thug's Z. Waste not, want not. No sense leaving perfectly good product out in the street for one of his rivals to snatch.

"How did you find me?" asked Shilo. She knelt down beside him, watching him work.

"Wasn't looking for you," said Graverobber a little gruffly. "Just luck." He selected a syringe and prepared to push it into the skull, but the broken neck presented a problem. The thug's head lolled around so much that it was hard to keep it steady, and a clean shot to the hypothalamus was essential.

Shilo's small hands reached out, taking hold of the corpse's head on either side. She didn't shake at all. She didn't even wince as he smacked in the needle and drew out the glow.

_Kid's tougher than she looks_, he thought approvingly.

"You don't think it was fate?" she asked quietly.

"What was?"

"You finding me. That's three times." The unspoken words, _that you've saved my life_, hung in the air between them.

The Zydrate extracted and glowing brightly, Graverobber tucked the vial into his belt. "Fate's nothing but a lie, kid," he told her. "Just another lie made up by the same idiots who believe God exists and He gives a fuck about us. It's all just a crock of shit." A quick feel in the pockets of the two bodies didn't yield any cash. Graverobber picked up the two knives and tucked them into his satchel, then got to his feet and started heading back down the alleyway. Shilo also leapt up, concerned.

"Where are you going?" she cried.

"I'm not gonna wait around to be arrested like an idiot," he snapped back.

"Can't I come with you?" asked Shilo desperately. Graverobber turned and stared at her.

"Look, I know I'm not good for much," she blurted out. "I—I don't know how to take care of myself, and—and I still don't know very much about this place. But I can help you. Like just now. I-I can do what you do. I'm smart, really, and I'm stronger than I look. And I'm not scared of death. Only please, please don't leave."

"I can't carry you, kid," said Graverobber in some exasperation. Jesus, you do something nice for a pretty girl and she's all over you. Just fucking typical.

"You won't have to," said Shilo eagerly. "I can keep up, I swear I can. If I don't, you can leave me. I won't follow you. But just give me a chance."

Graverobber sighed. He worked alone. He always had. Partnerships inevitably ended in tragedy or betrayal; he'd seen it time and time again. By relying only on himself, he guaranteed that he was never disappointed. Looking after one person was far easier than looking after two. And it wasn't like he was lonely. There were always scalpel sluts willing to sell themselves for a hit, or even regular whores who'd let him in if he could pay.

On the other hand, it was definitely true that Shilo knew zip about how the real world worked. And with that bounty on her life, it was only a matter of time before someone else came looking to cash in. The next time he saw her she might be a shell of herself, or cut into pieces. And there was still that one odd thought that had flown through his head, the one he couldn't forget.

_Mine_.

He guessed that now, she was.

"Fine," Graverobber muttered grudgingly. Let her think she was an unwelcome tagalong. "I'll give you a shot. But the first time I see you hesitate or you fall behind, you're out of here. No second chances."

Shilo nodded nervously. "I won't need one. I promise."

"Then come on."

Shilo's smile was brilliant. It was like a sunrise. She trotted over to him, practically skipping, and the two set off down the street. Graverobber glanced sideways at her. He'd take care of her injuries, and he'd also have to get her some equipment and real clothes. Not that he didn't love that little black dress she had on, but it wasn't exactly conducive to graverobbing.

After that . . . he'd have to see.

***

_I really did not expect it to take four chapters to get these two together. Now that I'm only telling one story instead of two, things should start moving a little faster._

_Once again, I had some trouble with Graverobber. It's kind of a fine line to walk with his character. On the one hand, he's almost completely morally bankrupt, definitely lives on the margins, and doesn't really give a fuck about anyone or anything. On the other, I really think that he is genuinely sweet on Shilo, probably more than he cares to admit to himself. Why else would he help her twice in the movie? And his "You're beautiful" during "Needle Through a Bug" gives me chills every time._

_Constructive feedback—hell, any kind of feedback—is greatly appreciated Flames, ninja hit squad, you know the drill._


	5. Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER:** If I owned Repo!, there wouldn't be a half-assed remake. That demon seed will not get a penny from me. Seriously, though, Repo! isn't mine. None of the characters or locations herein are mine. Sueing me would be a waste of time, because I am flat broke.

**AN:** The reason this took so long to update is my computer decided to be stupid, i.e., crash. It took a while to find a temporary substitute and recover most of my files. Basically, guys, be smarter than me and back up your files. I apologize for my idiocy, and present you with a slightly-longer-than-usual chapter. Though, as these have been getting longer and longer . . . okay, Vespa, time to shut up.

***

"No pressure, kid," said Graverobber. Shilo could practically _hear_ the smirk in his voice. "No rush. Not like we got other places to be. We got all the time in the world."

Shilo ground her teeth together in annoyance, and winced a little. Even three days later, her new tooth was still tender at the root. The doctor who'd fixed her up had done an excellent job considering they'd declined to pay him: Graverobber's needle gun had been all the persuasion he'd needed to carry out the procedure free of charge.

The two of them had broken into one of the quieter cemeteries on Crucifixus, one that the GeneCops frequented only rarely. It was Shilo's third attempt at a Zydrate extraction. The first two times, she'd missed the hypothalamus and come up with a mix of blood and brain matter. It had taken every ounce of determination she had not to betray her disgust—and her terror that Graverobber would leave her if she couldn't get it right wasn't helping.

Graverobber was lounging against a nearby tomb, fiddling with his needle gun as he watched Shilo. It had actually taken him a good five tries to hit the right spot for Zydrate his first time out—but that had been more years ago than he really cared to remember, and in any case, he had no intention of letting Shilo in on that little chapter of his history. He was kind of enjoying Shilo's struggles: the more riled she got, the more flushed and determined she looked, and the more attractive. He was only human, after all. Who could blame him?

And he was loving that new little skirt she had on.

Shilo gripped her needle tighter and prepared to plunge it into the corpse. Graverobber had proven himself a man of nearly infinite resource: he'd provided her with a set of syringes in various lengths and gauges, new clothes, and a bag to carry her things in. Yet for all his apparent kindness, he kept his distance, refusing to let her in or let her get close. Which, Shilo mused through her frustration, was probably for the best. She _definitely_ couldn't trust herself around him. Everything about him made her both intensely uncomfortable and strangely electrified. She couldn't get him out of her mind. When she tried to sleep at night, she could still feel his eyes raking her in, his hands ghosting over her arms, touching her bruised mouth—

Shilo gave her head a little shake. _Keep focus, _she told herself. _Concentrate. Don't think about him. Just prove you can do this. Don't give him an excuse to leave you._

And he probably would, too, the bastard. Shilo was not loving the status quo. Three days, and she still had no idea where she stood with him.

She steadied her hand for the fourth time and prepared to push the needle in. Just one—little—_push_—

In it went. There was a slight punching sound as the needle broke through something Shilo didn't really want to think about. All that was left was to pray it came out blue. Shilo shut her eyes and yanked it out.

Graverobber leaned forward to see what the outcome was. "Nice, kid," he said. "About damn time." He felt a twinge of pride. The girl was learning faster than he had.

Shilo opened her eyes. Sure enough, the vial in her hand was glowing bright blue. She glanced over her shoulder at Graverobber. The sight of him, just sitting there and not doing a thing to help or encourage her, only irritated her more.

"I'm glad it met with your approval," Shilo muttered. She removed the vial of Zydrate from the syringe and slipped it into the pouch on her belt.

"I'm sorry, did we say something?" drawled Graverobber behind her.

That was _it_. All the resentment and confusion Shilo had been feeling came bubbling to the surface. She got to her feet and glared at him. "In case you haven't noticed," she told him icily, "I haven't complained _once_ in the last three days. I haven't said a word about being hungry all the time, or having to sleep all huddled up to keep warm, or praying that whatever my dad had me on doesn't knock me out again, or you checking out my ass at every opportunity—oh, you _know_ you do," she added angrily, for Graverobber had actually put a hand to his heart, feigning great insult. "And you just—just sit there and ignore me, you treat me like—and _you're_ the one who said I could come! I've just been waiting for you to be gone when I wake up, no warning, no nothing."

"You think I'd do that?" asked Graverobber heatedly. Did she really think so little of him? He'd saved her life, and she thought—

"How should I know what you'll do or won't do?" Shilo forged on recklessly. "You lie and deal drugs and rob graves and murder and fuck anything you can get inside—"

"Kid—"

"And stop calling me that!" she spat at him. "I'm not a kid! My name is Shilo! Is that so damn hard for you to remember?"

Shilo wasn't really sure how it happened. One minute Graverobber was lounging against his crypt, and the next he'd leapt up, crossed the short distance to her, and shoved her against the wall of a mausoleum. He glowered at her, practically radiating danger. His large hands pinned her arms roughly as he loomed over her.

Shilo glared up at him. She knew she should be scared of him, knew he wanted her to be scared of him. But now that she had let loose the diatribe that had been building in her for days, she couldn't find it in herself to be frightened. All she felt was anger.

"You going to kill me?" she hissed furiously. "Shove your needle in my brain and sell what you find? Or just fuck me once I'm dead?"

"Don't tempt me," he growled through his teeth. His fingers tightened reflexively on her arms, and Shilo gasped in pain. She struggled, but Graverobber easily quelled her movements. He shifted, capturing both her wrists in one hand and pinning them above her head.

Shilo's resentment started to ebb away, to be replaced with fear. Would he hurt her? He'd proven he was capable—the first night with him, she'd woken in a cold sweat, remembering how he'd broken Latch's neck so easily.. Graverobber was a lot bigger and a lot stronger than she was. He could do her real harm if he decided to.

Graverobber stared at Shilo, equal parts impressed by her nerve and furious with her. She had balls, without a doubt; there weren't a whole lot of people willing to go head to head with him. And there was no denying it was hot. Even like this, even scared and angry, she was still beautiful. Maybe even more beautiful than before. Was there anything about this girl that didn't turn him on? Just being this close had him hard for her. Well, he might as well take advantage of the situation, while he had her like this. Graverobber's lips stretched into a devious smile.

"Don't tempt me, kid," he murmured again. Shilo opened her mouth to protest the word, but stopped as his free hand came up and settled on her neck. He caressed Shilo's throat, just under her jawline, pressing just a little harder than was comfortable. His hand was so large that it spanned the width of her neck. His touch was intimate but dangerous. Shilo was very aware of his fingers against her jugular and the heel of his palm against her carotid. Her heart beat a frantic tattoo against her ribcage, and an odd pressure settled somewhere in the base of her stomach.

Graverobber dropped his gaze to her lips. He was very close to her, a scant inch away from her face. Shilo wondered, a little dazedly, if he was going to kiss her—

Shilo gasped again as he shifted. He pressed his body against hers, and bent to reach the hollow of her neck. His hand left her throat to hold her waist. She could feel his mouth on her throat, the faintest brush of his lips. It wasn't a kiss, just a touch, but with just that slight contact she was powerless to stop him.

She didn't _want_ to stop him.

God, how could he do this to her? How could he make her feel like this? She'd realized that he was a mercurial being—he shifted from irritable to distant to seductive without a moment's pause—but she never would have thought he could transform _her_. One minute she was furious with him, the next minute craving his approval, the next scared to death of him, the next wanting him so badly it almost hurt. She didn't understand him, but he had captured her somehow.

Graverobber's mouth trailed up the side of her neck. "You've got a lot to learn, kid," he breathed in her ear.

"Like what?" Shilo managed.

Graverobber chuckled low in his throat. His hand stroked her hip, then moved up her side. She felt _nice_, nicer than any body had in a long while. He left her ear to hover over her mouth. The tips of his fingers trailed over the arch of her cheekbone. Shilo shivered under his touch, and sighed with anticipation. She felt soft and pliant. _Christ_, he wanted her. And she was his, completely; her breath came in short little pants that drove him absolutely insane. She was almost begging for him.

"You need to learn . . ." Graverobber almost purred. Shilo could feel his warm breath on her lips. He was so close . . .

"What?" she whispered. She ached to close that last distance, but didn't quite dare.

"Not to let your guard down so easy."

Graverobber let her go and stepped away from her. It was hard—he _really_ wanted her—but moments like this were worth it. Shilo actually let out a mewl of disappointment, and Graverobber grinned: a job well done. He opened his hand and held it out for her to see. Resting there was a glowing vial of Zydrate. Shilo felt in her pouch, and found it empty.

"You bastard!" she cried. "That's mine!"

"Then take better care of it, kid," said Graverobber easily. He tossed the vial back to Shilo, who tucked it away again, scowling. "The next guy to try to take it from you might not be as nice as me."

Shilo snorted derisively. "You're the last person I'd call 'nice.' Not after . . . whatever the hell that just was."

"You didn't seem to mind."

Shilo blushed brilliant scarlet and turned her back on him. Folding her arms, she walked away and leaned against the mausoleum wall. She felt frustrated beyond the telling of it. Graverobber initially thought she was pouting (and who could blame her? He was damn hot, and every woman on Crucifixus knew it) but then noticed her back shaking slightly.

Jesus, had he made her cry? All his pride evaporated. _Fucking great, genius_.

Graverobber went to her and touched her shoulder gently. "Kid—"

"_Shilo_." The girl shrugged his hand off.

"Kid." Shilo didn't turn around. "Listen, I'll make a deal with you. I'll call you by your name."

Shilo turned at that, hopeful. He was relieved to see no trace of tears in her eyes. "Really?"

"Sure. When you call me by mine."

Shilo scowled at him again. "I don't know your name."

"Then you'd better get used to 'kid.'" Shilo glared. Graverobber sighed. "Look, I am who I am. I deal Zydrate. I rob graves. I lie, I cheat, I steal, and I'm not particular about who I fuck. Sometimes I like to mess with your head. And yeah, I've killed people, when I had to. But I won't hurt _you_, not ever, and I won't leave." Graverobber reached out to touch her arm, then thought better of it and lowered his hand.

Shilo was silent for a long minute, eyes downcast. Then she muttered, "Everyone leaves. My mother, my godmother . . . my father. You're the only person I have left, and I can't trust you. You'll leave, too."

"I won't. Not me."

"Promise?"

It was Graverobber's turn to hesitate. She'd caught him off-guard with that one. Promises weren't good for much in his world, his promises least of all. To be honest, he didn't have a great track record at this sort of thing. Secrets were more his style, but promises?

But he could do this. This girl was his now. He wasn't about to let her go. So he nodded. "Yeah. Promise."

Shilo nodded briskly to the ground, then looked at him again. A very small, very shy smile appeared on her face. "Sorry I yelled at you before."

Graverobber grinned. "It's harder than that to hurt my feelings." He paused a moment, then added quickly, "If I had feelings. Which I don't."

"Oh, no, of course not," said Shilo, mock-serious.

"Wouldn't want you thinking I emote or some shit like that. It's bad business."

"I agree."

"Just as long as we got that straight."

Shilo giggled, sounding more like a genuine seventeen-year-old than she had in days. He held out his arm and gave her a little bow, and Shilo dropped a small curtsy and took his arm. The girl and the graverobber began to make their way out of the cemetery, back into the city proper.

"Um . . . before," said Shilo hesitantly. Graverobber peered down at her. "When you . . . you know," Shilo muttered. "You wouldn't really have . . . would you?"

Graverobber smiled enigmatically but didn't answer. Let her mull _that_ one over. Sure enough, Shilo flushed beet red. God, he loved that he could make her do that.

"Your virtue is safe," he told her evenly. "Unless you'd like it otherwise."

Shilo wrinkled her nose at him. "Not a chance," she said. She wasn't sure if she was speaking to him or to herself. She knew what she'd be dreaming of that night. That odd pressure in her belly hadn't abated at all. "Besides, three corpses defiled? I don't think I have any virtue left." She wiped her free hand on her skirt, grimacing at the streak of dirt she left behind. "I can't even remember what it's like to feel clean. I need a shower more than anything else—and so do you," she added. "You smell _terrible_."

"The lady doth protest too much! I smell fine."

"You smell worse than that last body, and God only knows how long it's been dead," Shilo insisted. "If you're going to be around me all the time, the least you can do is smell vaguely human."

"The smell comes with the job. Nothing I can do about it."

"You can shower."

"It's just dirt."

"It's unsanitary."

"Kid."

"Graverobber."

He actually smiled at that, hearing the dealing nomenclature coming from her pretty little mouth. Truth be told, he _was_ feeling a little ripe. A shower might not be amiss. And Shilo had that determined set in her eyebrows, the one that said _I am absolutely going to get my way on this_.

Fine. He'd let her. This time. _Once_.

It wasn't like this was going to become a pattern with them.

***

_HOLY COW, six people have added this as a favorite story! I feel honored beyond the telling of it. Vespa is very, very happy. ¡Muchisimas gracias!_

_Feedback would be lovely, and constructive criticism especially so. Flames are very not cool, but that's what the ninja hit squad is for._


	6. Chapter 6

**DISCLAIMER:** Still not mine, except for Darby. See Chapter 1 for more details.

**AN:** I have received a great many kind words requesting that I continue this story. Rest assured, I have every intention of following this to the end. Your reviews have made a hellish time bearable. Thank you.

A few hours later, Shilo found herself standing in the grimy hallway of a grimier apartment building. Graverobber stopped before one of the doors, with the metal numbers 507 screwed into the wood.

"Is this your place?" asked Shilo, curious.

Graverobber chuckled. "I don't keep a place, kid. Come on, you know that."

"It was too much to hope for, I suppose," said Shilo dryly. "Do you _like_ sleeping in Dumpsters or something?"

"People who enjoy sleep don't know what they're missing," said Graverobber sagely. "You'll sleep enough when you're cold in the ground. Why waste your time?" With that, he rapped smartly on the door with his knuckles.

They waited a moment in silence, then Shilo asked, "Who lives here, if you don't?"

"A friend of mine." Graverobber hesitated, thinking. "Well, 'friend' isn't the right word. Associate. Sort of. We've known each other for a while. She works a different market than we do, though."

"She?" said Shilo, raising an eyebrow, but before she could inquire further, a small square Judas window in the door opened. A single blue eye appeared in the hole.

"Oh, just fucking great," said an exasperated-sounding female voice from the other side of the door. "I really don't need your bullshit tonight."

Graverobber grinned.

"Evening, Darby," he said. "I brought company." He wrapped an arm around Shilo's waist and tugged her a little closer, presumably so the eye could see her. Shilo smiled awkwardly and waved her hand a little, feeling very strange to be communing with a door.

"Good for you," said the female voice, sounding bored this time. "How is this my problem?"

"Just let us in, already. I'll give you a hit if you're a good girl."

The eye disappeared from the window to be replaced by a gloved middle finger pointing straight up. Then the peephole door slammed shut.

Shilo blinked. She glanced up at Graverobber, who looked slightly bemused. She began, "Maybe we should—"

But there was a mechanical click from the door, presumably a lock being turned. Graverobber tried the handle, and it moved without resistance. He smiled down at Shilo and ushered her forward as he opened the door. "I promised you a shower, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did," Shilo muttered. She made to take a step inside, but Graverobber caught her wrist and pulled her close for a moment.

"Darby's not a nice sight," he murmured in her ear. "Don't let it surprise you." Shilo stared at him, not quite sure what to make of that, then went into the apartment and took stock of her new surroundings.

The apartment was small, seeming to consist of only two rooms. Facing her was a large window with a sliding glass door, which opened onto a fire escape and view of Largo Towers in the distance. Shilo still didn't have much of a grasp on the city's geography, but gathered that she must be towards the outskirts. The apartment was mainly dominated by a narrow double bed, which jutted out from a wall. To the right was a small kitchenette and a door which she assumed led to a bathroom. There was a big chest in one corner, shut with a padlock, but lying on top of it was a large and dangerous-looking revolver.

Shilo's attention was captured, however, by the woman standing by the window. She stood with her back to her visitors, and almost all Shilo could see of her was that she had long red hair, she was quite stocky, and she stood a good two inches shorter than Shilo. The woman turned only when the door snicked shut.

Shilo was glad Graverobber had warned her, but it still took all her composure not to gasp at the sight of the woman's face. The left side of her face was nice-looking, but the right side was crisscrossed with a number of scars. Her right eyebrow had been cleaved in half, and the right eye was nothing but a milky orb. The longest scar went all the way to the corner of her mouth. They looked like blade wounds. A seriously botched surgery or a survived attack? Shilo had a feeling it was the latter. She shuddered to think of the kind of anger it would take to do so much damage.

The woman must have caught some of Shilo's shock, for she gave a grim smile. "Not too pretty, am I?"

"I'm sorry," said Shilo quickly. "I just—I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean—I-I was just—"

"Oh, stop looking so scared, for fuck's sake," said the woman irritably. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"D, I realize it's hard for you, because you're a horrible person," said Graverobber coolly, "but try to be nice."

"Bite me." The woman sighed, then focused her one good eye on Shilo. "You the Wallace kid?"

"I'm Shilo."

"Whatever. Call me Darby, or D. And if you swipe anything, I swear to God you'll regret it," she added loudly to Graverobber, who had been rummaging through some of the kitchen cabinets. He winked roguishly at her, and Darby glared. She crossed to the chest and sat down on it, picking up the revolver as she did so. She turned the heavy gun over and over in her hands as she observed her two guests.

"How goes it?" Graverobber asked, leaving the kitchen to lean against the bathroom door.

Darby shrugged. "It goes."

"Business moving all right?"

"Fine, not that it's any of yours. I got a client meeting in an hour."

"A buyer?" said Graverobber.

"Potential buyer, anyway. I think I got him convinced."

"Then you won't mind if we crash here for the night?" asked Graverobber swiftly. Shilo had to admire his nerve, and inwardly sighed with relief at the prospect of an actual bed. Although . . . only one bed . . .

Darby rolled her eye and shrugged. "Long as it's not trashed in the morning, I don't give a damn. But you didn't come all this way on the off I'd be out tonight. Why are you here, really? Hiding from the cops? Or from Amber, more like?

"He needs to shower," said Shilo simply. "Well, we both do, but he needs it more."

"Wouldn't hurt," said Darby, looking Graverobber up and down shrewdly.

"Everyone's a critic," Graverobber muttered darkly. He carefully unlatched his satchel and dropped it on the bed lightly. Shilo could hear the clink of needles and Zydrate vials from its depths. His coat was next, deposited neatly beside his bag. He reached up and pulled a leather thong from his hair, so that it all hung loose around his face and shoulders. Then he casually stripped off his shirt.

Shilo's jaw dropped at the sight of him shirtless. She'd never seen a man in _any_ state of undress; Nathan had been intensely private about such matters, even preferring to provide her with books on human sexuality rather than discuss it with her himself. The diagrams in her books had been clinical, where this was almost shockingly real. She could finally understand and appreciate Graverobber's bragging, how he claimed he could have any woman on Crucifixus.

She _totally_ got that now.

With some disjoined part of her mind, Shilo knew she was staring, but it didn't seem very important at the moment. Graverobber wasn't exactly handsome, even half-naked, but he certainly wasn't bad-looking, and he had a kind of . . . charisma that made up for the lack of conventionality. His chest and back were well-muscled, as were his arms, and covered by a light dusting of hair. Shilo would have thought she would find that unattractive, but just now the waxed heroes on romance stepbacks seemed bland and unimpressive compared to him. He bore more than a few scars, souvenirs of a life lived outside the law. He caught her eye, grinned lasciviously, and started to unbuckle his belt.

"God, you're such a freak," snapped Darby, holding up a hand to shield her face from him. Just get in there, would you? Graverobber grinned and laughed broadly, then opened the door and stepped into the bathroom.

"Door's unlocked, if you'd care to join," Graverobber called out to them before he shut the door.

"Fat chance, you fucking perv," Darby muttered.

Shilo stared at the bathroom door. Presently she heard the water start to run, and even imagined she heard the clatter as his belt hit the floor. What would he look like naked? The door was unlocked, after all—

"Feel like putting your eyes back in?" asked Darby, sounding vaguely amused.

Shilo started, then turned pointedly away from the door. "My eyes were in," she told the older woman, attempting a certainty she didn't really feel. "Completely—_totally_ in."

"You just keep telling yourself that."

Shilo sighed. She didn't know this woman, not at all, but she wasn't about to give her the wrong impression. "We're not—we haven't—"

"Come over here, okay? You're on my blind side." Shilo was confused a moment, then realized Darby couldn't see her where she was. Apparently half-blindness had more disadvantages than the loss of depth perception. Shilo left her lonely corner and took a seat on the end of the bed, laying her bag beside her and facing the older woman.

"How'd you run into Graves, anyway?" asked Darby curiously. "Word was you disappeared after the Opera. Whole city's been looking for you."

Shilo nodded. "He found me a few days ago. I was . . . I was in trouble. I would have died if he hadn't . . . he saved my life.

Darby looked surprised. "You're incredibly lucky," she told the girl seriously. "No, I mean that. Graverobber does _not_ go around saving people. He must really like you. He would've left anyone else to die. You are incredibly, _incredibly _lucky."

Shilo knew it. She had a feeling Latch and Nicky were going to haunt her dreams for a long time. God, if Graverobber hadn't—no. No good could come of thinking about that. The important thing was that she was safe now.

Well, more or less. She didn't know Darby, didn't know if she could be trusted. Graverobber seemed to respect her, so that probably meant she was okay. But still . . . Shilo eyed the gun in her hands, and glanced at the scars on her face. The woman looked like she could be very dangerous if provoked.

Darby looked like she was summing Shilo up in exactly the same way Shilo was summing her up. They sat there in silence for several long minutes, neither of them willing to break it. Then Darby sighed, leaning back against the wall. She put her revolver down on the trunk next to her, and picked up a pack of cigarettes sitting on the windowsill. Pulling a lighter out of her pocket, she held a cig between her lips and lit it. Shilo watched the process with interest; she'd never been around cigarettes before. Nathan would never allow anything potentially harmful coming anywhere near his daughter. The smoke was thick and pungent, and smelled more herbal than Shilo was expecting. Cloves, maybe?

"So . . . what do you do?" Shilo prompted Darby, tiring of the silence.

Darby gestured to the revolver. "I run guns, mostly," she said around the butt in her mouth. "Sometimes I go after bounties, but not too often. Bounty hunting's not nearly as glamorous as it sounds, and most of 'em I won't tough on principle. I have standards. Not many of them, granted, but still."

Shilo smiled in spite of herself. "Drug dealers and gunrunners. What wonderful company I'm keeping."

"Hey, this is my place you're in, and I know my way around a gun. Do the math, kid."

Shilo sighed again. 'Kid' again. First Graverobber, now Darby. "Why in the hell can no one use my name?" she asked, more weary of it than annoyed. "You, Graverobber—"

"Get over it," said Darby brusquely. "And if you've got more than two functioning brain cells, you won't use your real name. It can be dangerous."

"I know about the Largos' bounty," Shilo began, but Darby shook her head.

"Not talking about that, though it's definitely trouble. Names can be currency in this city. You think Graves in there is the only one who doesn't use his? Anyone aiming to survive more than three seconds has an alias. You think my real name's 'Darby'?"

"It's not?" asked Shilo, intrigued. "What is it?"

"I'm sure as hell not telling _you_. I don't even know you. Look, knowing a name . . . makes you even. It means you're on the same side. Means you trust each other, more than anyone else. There's only two people alive who know my name. One of 'em's me, and the other's in there." Darby waved the cigarette, trailing smoke, at the bathroom door.

Shilo was now _very_ surprised. Graverobber? Out of all the people on this island, all the people in the world, _he_ was the one she trusted above all others? Him? The notorious Zydrate dealer?

"So, do you know his real name?" she asked.

Darby shrugged. "Yeah. But I'm not telling. That's his business. If and when he wants you to know, he'll tell you himself."

Shilo's insides seemed to shrivel a little bit. Well, Graverobber had said he and Darby were friends . . . maybe they were better friends than she'd initially thought.

"How do you know each other?" asked Shilo cautiously. She wasn't sure she wanted the answer.

"Been a long time since we met."

That wasn't an answer, and it just made Shilo feel worse. Her mind was still working through the new image of Graverobber sans shirt, and more and more images came, unbidden and unwanted. Graverobber and Darby, together, doing things she really didn't want to think about. Somehow it made her incredibly uncomfortable to think of him like that. She didn't _want_ to think of him like that.

And yet . . .

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

Something of Shilo's discomfort must have shown on her face, because Darby actually snorted with laughter. "Holy Christ, _not_ like that," she chortled. "Trust me. He's not my type and I'm not his."

Shilo was relieved, and immediately hated herself. _I am so pathetic_.

"What's _your_ type?" she asked Darby, more to get away from her embarrassment than anything else.

"Nonexistent." Shilo giggled, but quickly stopped when she saw Darby wasn't joking. "I'm serious, kid. I have no type. Sex is permanently off my menu."

Shilo waited for elaboration, but none was forthcoming. She couldn't imagine what would make a person swear off sex forever, but she had a feeling it had to do with Darby's scars. _God, what happened to her?_

"How did—I mean, what—how did your face get like that?" asked Shilo, very shyly.

She expected Darby to be angry she'd brought it up, or to shut off from the conversation. But Darby didn't seem fazed at all; in fact, it seemed like she'd been expecting the question. She took another drag of her cigarette and answered easily. Maybe a little _too_ easily.

"I told Amber I thought she was fat," said Darby casually. "Oddly enough, she didn't like that."

Shilo knew she was lying, but was smart enough not to press it. Everyone had secrets they needed to keep; this must be one of Darby's.

"Why don't you have it fixed?" Shilo asked her. "Or at least fix your eye? I mean, can't you have surgery?"

Darby snorted derisively. "I'm one-hundred-percent me, and I intend on staying that way. Can't pay for it, anyway. You should know all about what happens to defaulters in this city."

Shilo _did_ know. Not a day went by that she didn't think about Nathan's secret life, no matter how much she wanted to bury it.

"Besides, it's not that bad," said Darby lazily as she took another drag from her cigarette. "Keeps the Masks away, at any rate."

"The Masks?" asked Shilo, confused.

Darby gave her a steely look. "You met the original, kid. Don't tell me you've forgotten."

Shilo had no idea what she meant. The original what? The original Mask? What were Masks? But then she remembered Pavi Largo and his stolen faces. The original . . . that must mean . . .

Darby nodded, seeing the progression of thoughts on Shilo's face. "The Largos have always been trendsetters," she said quietly. "Some trends are worse than others."

Shilo was keen to get off the topic of Pavi Largo's eccentricities—or any of the Largos, for that matter. She accepted that Darby wouldn't tell her much about herself or her relationship with Graverobber—except that it apparently wasn't sexual—but there was one issue she wanted cleared up.

"How did you meet Graverobber?" Shilo asked Darby again.

Darby was silent. She didn't look at Shilo, but turned to stare out the window, towards the rest of Crucifixus. She seemed to be gathering her thoughts. The scarred woman gazed out at the city below her, cracking her knuckles absentmindedly. Both arms were gloved in leather up past her elbows. Shilo noticed that the two smallest fingers on her left hand were crooked, bent in on themselves, as if she couldn't straighten them. Shilo was on the verge of repeating her question when Darby spoke.

"_I will show you fear in a handful of dust_," she said very quietly.

"What?"

Darby turned her head to look at Shilo, fixing her with both eyes, the blind and the seeing. She paused a moment longer, then said, "I—"

"Shower's all yours, kid," called Graverobber. Shilo jumped what felt like a foot, and even Darby started a bit. He was standing there, fully clothed except for coat and satchel, hair damp and tousled. He was apparently unaware of his poor timing—or maybe he was completely aware of it, and just relishing his ability to spoil a moment. The latter seemed more likely, given his cat-who-ate-the-canary smirk.

Shilo didn't want to give him any satisfaction if he could avoid it. She gathered up her bag and hurried toward the bathroom. As she passed, Graverobber reached out to grab her waist, but Shilo managed to sidestep him and made it inside. It was steamy and humid. As she shut the door behind her, she heard Graverobber asking Darby nonchalantly if she had anything halfway decent to eat, and then complain about the water pressure in the shower.

Shilo stared at her face in the fogged mirror, then removed her wig and laid it on the vanity—she'd have to wash it separately. She ran her fingers over her scalp, feeling for any hairs that might start to come in once her body was unpolluted by her father's medicine. There were none.

Her skin was clean, unblemished, unmarked. But the mirror had a long crack down the center of it, splitting her image in two. In their own ways, she and Darby were both scarred.

Graverobber and Darby stood on the fire escape together while Shilo took her shower, him leaning his back against the railing and her resting her elbows on it. Darby was smoking a second cigarette. She'd offered one to Graverobbr, but he'd refused, saying that a dealer never used his own product.

"This isn't Z," said Darby. "It's an herbal cigarette. And you don't even sell these."

"It's principle."

"It's moronic, is what it is."

After that they'd lapsed into a comfortable silence. This, thought Graverobber, was the nice thing about D. No matter how rude they were to each other or how many times they insisted they were not and never would be friends, they got along. As long as they stayed good and far away from that danger zone, the thing that by unspoken law was never to be discussed, they were fine.

Darby was just what he needed right now. It was such a relief to be around someone who didn't feel the need to fill the void with constant conversation, someone so new to the world she was little better off than a newborn. Someone who didn't still believe, mo matter how hard she tried to hide it, that the universe had some semblance of order to it. Someone who didn't turn him on just by breathing.

But, to be honest, he liked all that about Shilo.

"What do you think?" Graverobber asked his companion.

Darby took another drag of her cigarette, inspected the butt, and decided there wasn't enough left to smoke. She pitched it into the alley below. She did not reply.

"Well?" asked Graverobber pointedly.

"You expect me to dignify that with a response?" Darby asked lazily.

Graverobber gave her the finger. She responded in kind.

"Seriously, though," said Graverobber. "The kid. What do you think?"

"You mean about her in general or something more specific?"

"Just . . . just her. What's your take?"

Darby shook her head.

"She's clueless," she said. Graverobber realized Darby was being truthful, not unkind. There was no easy way around it; Shilo simply didn't know much about the way the world worked.

"She doesn't even begin to understand how much trouble she's in," Darby continued. "Word of that bounty is everywhere, and it's only a matter of time before some sick fuck tries to cash in. The hunters in this city won't care that she's practically a baby. And chances are the Largos'll raise the bounty, keep people interested. Amber won't give up until she's dead. As long as the kid's alive, she's a threat to Amber's power, and a threat to Amber is a threat to GeneCo, and in case you've forgotten, GeneCo rules pretty much the whole fucking world. There's no way she'll survive on her own out here."

Graverobber glowered darkly. The thought of that bounty just made him even more pissed off at the Largos, and at Amber in particular. He hadn't heard a word of her on the streets the last couple of days; he supposed that now that she was in charge of GeneCo, she had access to as much lab-grade Zydrate as she wanted; no need to seek him out for street Z.

"The kid's held her own so far," Graverobber protested. "She survived the first night. She survived the Opera, for fuck's sake, and Christ knows that was a bloodbath. She took out one of the thugs who assaulted her. And she's learning—she's actually learning faster than I did."

"She's also older than you were," Darby pointed out.

Graverobber shook his head. "She's tougher than you give her credit for."

"That's not the point," Darby snapped. "She's fine right now, when you're looking over her shoulder. But as soon as you're gone, she's got to grow up fast or she's not growing up at all."

"I'm not leaving her."

"Don't lie to me. Of course you are. I know you."

"I'm not leaving." Graverobber met Darby's eye hard. "I made a promise."

Darby stared at him. "You don't make promises."

"Shows how much _you_ know," he retorted.

Darby's eyebrows shot up. "Seriously?" she asked. "She's with you for good?"

Graverobber shrugged. "I like her," he said noncommittally. And he did. He didn't see what the big deal was; he liked her innocence and her strength and her slightly twisted sense of humor. All personality clashes and disagreements aside, they got along, and they worked well together. And if seeing her smile or feeling her slight little body against his turned him on, he was only human, after all.

Darby gaped at him for a good two minutes. He could practically hear the wheels turning in her head, as she tried to reconcile the Graverobber, Criminal At Large, with someone who would willingly take an orphaned girl under his wing.

"Whatever," she said finally. "Not my problem. Just know that there's a special place in hell for you if you do to her what I know you want to do to her."

"I have my morals, D," said Graverobber, mock-offended.

"But those morals don't prevent you copping a feel, do they?" she asked archly. He smiled but said nothing.

Darby rolled her eye. "Whatever," she said again. Then, straightening, she walked back into her apartment. She picked up her revolver from the chest and slipped it into a holster at her waist. "Don't trash my place," she called over her shoulder.

"You're leaving?"

"Got a buyer, remember?" Darby indicated her gun. Graverobber nodded. The joys of the underground market.

"Lock the door when you leave; I won't be back till tomorrow," Darby added. She picked up a rucksack and slung it over her shoulder. She cast a glance around, decided she had everything she needed, then unlocked the door and stepped into the hall. She pulled the door shut after her, but a second later she opened it back up again and poked her head inside.

"Special place in hell," Darby reminded him. Graverobber laughed. She glared and left for good.

Not ten seconds later, Shilo opened the door of the bathroom, coming out in a billow of steam. Her hair hung wetly down her back and she scrubbed at her face with a towel. Her skin was flushed from heat.

"Is Darby gone?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Graverobber as he reentered the apartment. "We got the place all to ourselves. Just you and me, kid."

Shilo blushed. Graverobber smiled. _Score_.

_After a few months of grueling work, I've returned. I can't guarantee updates with any kind of regularity, but I will try not to have such a long period elapse next time. It's good to be writing again. Comments/constructive criticism would be lovely; flames will be forwarded to the ninja hit squad._


	7. Chapter 7

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Repo!. Any places or characters you recognize from the movie aren't mine.

**AN:** Oh, my God, an update! So it's been a while. I'm really sorry about that, guys. My life's been pretty sucky, and I haven't been inspired to write much of anything. But after realizing that seven-plus months (yikes!) had gone by without word one from me, I figured it was time to breathe new life into this baby. Please accept my apologies for taking so long. It means a lot that you guys like this, so thank you. Also, I absolutely guarantee another chapter by the end of the coming week—I just need to do last-minute proofing.

This was originally going to be something of an interlude at the beginning of a chapter, but got too long and involved. But it is important to the plot, I promise. Shilo and Graverobber will return next chapter.

***BREAK***

Neither of the two henchgirls flanking the elevator flinched as a glass paperweight shattered between their heads. Hardly surprising, really, as they'd been trained to never betray the slightest emotion. Ever. Back when Rotti Largo had been running GeneCo, he'd chosen his private guards personally, selecting only those who could face the Devil himself without blinking.

A pity he hadn't taken the same care with his police force. The current police commissioner cowered before the desk, hands up around his face to ward off any other attacks. When the woman behind the desk spoke, it was in a voice of forced calm.

"I don't understand," said Amber Sweet, head of GeneCo, "how it can be so hard to find one little girl."

They were in the office that had formerly been Rotti's, but was now the domain of his daughter. The place was mostly unchanged. Amber had kept the imposing furniture and the heavy desk, perhaps hoping to gain some intimidation power through her father's things. The one sofa in front of the desk was gone, to gain floor space. The main difference to the office these days was the video wall. Rather than showing security feeds from various locations in the city or the latest repossession target, the screens now showed all the information available on one Shilo Wallace. Amber's desire to find the girl was bordering on obsession.

The commissioner wrung his hands together, shiny with sweat. "It's proving more difficult than we'd anticipated, Miss Sweet," he said hesitantly. "We've had eyes on the Wallace house for days, but she hasn't returned. She most likely knows it's being watched. Our other option was to track her comlink. All the bracelets are linked into the GeneCo mainframe—"

"I _know_ all this," Amber snarled. "Your job is to tell me things I _don't already know_." The commissioner trembled but went on.

"The signal went completely dead a few hours after the Opera. We suspect that she managed to damage or destroy the bracelet. We've gotten several tips on the bounty, but there's been no real progress yet—"

Amber almost screamed with frustration. She tore at her hair, which was platinum blonde and waist-length at the moment. Her SurGens had managed to repair her fallen face, but she was under strict orders not to alter it for at least three months. Amber was compensating by changing her hair twice as often as before. The embargo on facial surgery combined with the police's failure to locate Shilo had put her in an especially foul mood. The commissioner sensed another attack and ducked again, but the desk was out of potential projectiles.

This didn't stop Amber, who swept a sheaf of papers to the floor. Then she slammed both fists down onto the wood, making the commissioner jump. When he dared to look up, all he saw was Amber's head bowed, blonde hair streaming down around her face.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he heard her mutter.

"Ma'am?" the commissioner asked cautiously.

Amber flung herself upright, hair flying back. There was a steely glint in her eyes and her genetically perfect mouth was a narrow, tight line.

"Raise the bounty," she said in a hard voice. "Twenty thousand."

"But, Miss Sweet—"

"Raise it!"

The commissioner wilted. Raising the bounty on Shilo Wallace would certainly be one way to bring her in, but for every legitimate tip the GeneCops received, they could count on at least twenty fakes, each of which would need to be followed up. It required time, energy, paperwork . . . all the things he didn't want his department getting caught up in. They had real work to be doing; busting illegal chop shops and arresting Zydrate peddlers. They didn't have time to comb the city for one girl.

Not to mention that GeneCo, as the offeror of the bounty, would end up paying those twenty thousand credits. And as Amber would never willingly let a sum that large out of her hands, the bounty would come out of any department she deemed unnecessary . . . which probably included the police. Amber was treating the company like her own personal piggy-bank.

_Did you expect anything different?_ he thought to himself bitterly. _Daddy's brat always gets her way_.

The commissioner nodded gloomily. "I'll send the word out right away, Miss Sweet," he said. He didn't even try to keep the dejection out of his voice.

Amber either didn't notice or didn't care. She carefully tidied her hair and smiled sweetly at the commissioner. "Thank you," she said in a voice that dripped sugar. "That's all, I think."

The commissioner nodded, glad to be dismissed, and was at the point of exiting the office when the side door, the one leading to the cold room, opened.

In strode the two remaining Largos, Luigi and Pavi. Luigi went straight to the desk and planted his fists on it. Although he had been doing a fairly good job at hiding it, it was clear he was resentful that his younger sister had inherited GeneCo. The commissioner surveyed the scene cautiously. Luigi looked angry, as per usual, and the commissioner quickly backed several feet away from him. If Luigi went into a rage, he had a nasty habit of stabbing the closest person to him. That was actually how the previous commissioner had died, just last week.

Pavi hung back towards the elevator, inspecting his latest face in a handheld mirror. It made the commissioner's stomach turn a bit to see that the face had previously belonged to Blind Mag, and the dead singer's beautiful features were still discernable. However, Pavi's face masks only lasted a few days, for he refused to preserve them with chemicals. Mag's face was starting to curl and shrivel at the edges, a sure sign that Pavi would be hunting a new one soon. Sure enough, he reached out an effeminate hand to caress the jawline of one of the henchgirls.

"Pavi!" came his older sister's sharp voice. Pavi immediately jerked his hand away and looked guiltily at Amber. Amber shook her head.

"Sister, please!" he said reproachfully. "You-a promised me—"

"Shut up, freak!" barked Luigi over his shoulder. Pavi pouted and flopped down into his chair, and gingerly inspected the withering edges of Mag's face in his mirror.

Amber looked up through her long lashes at Luigi. "What is it?" she asked, her tone somewhere between irritated and seductive. The commissioner winced inwardly. The underlying current between the siblings had always bordered on incestuous, and the tabloid rumors about the family certainly went that route. Whether or not it was true, he had no idea, but. . . . The commissioner shuddered.

Luigi smiled, and to the commissioner it looked more like a grimace than a sign of affection. "Someone just came in about the bounty on the Wallace bitch."

Amber immediately perked up. She looked square into her older brother's face, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. "Is it credible?"

Luigi shrugged. "Seems to be. His story didn't change under pressure."

_Under pressure_ was Luigi's code for torture.

Amber smiled broadly. Stretching out an elegantly manicured hand, she ran her fingertips up Luigi's chest slowly, stopping to play with his ascot. "Thank you _so_ much," she said silkily. "You're such a good brother." Pavi snickered on the chair behind Luigi.

Luigi took a step back from the desk, out of his sister's reach, and snapped his fingers towards the cold room door. The two burly, leather-clad men who had formerly been Amber's bodyguards clomped into the room heavily, dragging a limp human figure between them. Amber had turned over her manslaves to Luigi and Pavi as a seeming show of goodwill, but everyone at GeneCo knew better. The henchgirls were simply better markswomen and far superior guards—which, of course, was why Rotti and now Amber had kept them for themselves.

The commissioner ignored the manslaves and focused on the man they were dragging into the room. He looked to be in his early twenties, and was covered in blood and bruises, the remnants of Luigi's handiwork. The two manslaves had him by the arms and were pulling him through the room backwards, and the commissioner noticed that the captive left two bloody trails on the floor. His Achilles tendons had been cut; he wouldn't be using his legs anytime soon, if ever again.

The man was whimpering to himself and cried out in pain when the manslaves dumped him unceremoniously before Amber's desk. He scrambled around so that he was on his hands and knees, and quickly shied away from Luigi. He was bleeding freely from his nose and sniffling constantly. His hair was dyed bright green. The commissioner noticed a yellowing bruise on the side of his head, too old to be from Luigi.

"It wasn't me," the captive sniveled pitifully. "I didn't do nothing. It was Latch's idea to catch the bitch. We didn't know nothing about no bounty. We just wanted to get some. Please. . . ." He held up his hands to Amber in appeal.

"Shut up," said Amber coldly. "You've seen Shilo Wallace?"

"It wasn't me," the captive insisted. "We just wanted to get some. She was just a piece of ass. We didn't do nothing. And that freak—that graverobber—he killed Latch, he killed him—"

"Graverobber?" said Amber immediately. "What graverobber?"

"I don't know nothing," protested the captive pathetically. "I don't know who he was. Just some freak graverobber, some Z-dealer. He had lots of colors in his hair and a weird coat. He killed Latch and he knocked me out, and he took the girl. I didn't do nothing."

Amber's lips stretched into a slow, grim smile.

***BREAK***

_God, the Largos were hard to write! Amber in particular. Anyway, another chapter in a few days. Reviews are awesome, flames are not._

_Also, I like to break up my chapters with little asterisks sometimes, but apparently likes to take those out. So if the flow in previous chapters seems off, it's probably because there's supposed to be a visible break. Sorry about that._


	8. Chapter 8

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Repo! or any of the characters or places from the movie. If you saw it there, it isn't mine.

**AN:** As promised, another chapter before the end of the week. Friday's the end of the week, right?

***BREAK***

Shilo awoke slowly from vague dreams. In the long moments between awareness and sleep, she didn't quite know where she was. She was warm and comfortable and felt safe. She couldn't almost believe that she was back in her old room in Nathan's house . . . but the ambient sounds she remembered from her childhood were absent. She didn't hear the quiet beeping of her heart monitors or the gentle rustle of plastic sheeting. Instead, she heard faint city noises, the banging of radiator pipes, and slow, deep breathing.

As Shilo came more and more back to herself, she kept her eyes closed. She seemed to be in a relatively soft bed, although the mattress was showing its age, judging by the springs she could feel digging into her left side. One of her arms dangled off the end of the bed, and something firm was pressed against her back, following the curve of her body. She shifted slightly, trying to avoid a particularly insistent spring, and the person lying beside her mumbled something incoherent into her neck and tightened his arm around her midsection.

Shilo opened her eyes. Now she knew where she was: Darby's apartment. Early morning light was coming in from the window behind her, illuminating the wall with the door and the tiny kitchen. Looking down her body, she saw Graverobber's bare arm tucked around her waist.

Last night, after Darby had left and they had scrounged some dinner from the kitchen, Shilo had mentioned that she was tired and wanted to go to bed. She had hoped that Graverobber would offer her the bed alone, though in hindsight she saw how stupid that was. Instead, he had turned down the covers, taken off his boots and shirt (Shilo again trying not to stare), and climbed into the left side of the bed, gesturing for her to join him on the right.

"I'm not sleeping with you," Shilo told him quickly. To her everlasting gratitude, she didn't blush this time.

"There's a difference between sleeping with someone and _sleeping_ with someone," Graverobber said with a yawn. "Come on, kid. The heat in this building is shot. You'll freeze."

"You're such a gentleman," she said in her most sarcastic voice.

Graverobber shrugged noncommittally. "If you're that uptight about it, sleep on the floor. You can take my coat."

Shilo frowned at him. She couldn't physically force him out; he was simply too big. She could possibly nag him so much that he gave in, but he'd be annoyed with her for days. And the floor was hard linoleum and concrete; she'd never get a decent night's rest on that. The prospect of a bed after days on the street was tempting, and though she hated to admit it to herself, sharing it with him was also tempting, though in a different way. But she ignored that last thought.

"Fine," Shilo grumbled at last. She removed her boots and gingerly slid into the bed. Typically, Graverobber made no effort to give her any personal space—on the contrary, he sprawled over the mattress, and she couldn't help brushing against his side as she settled herself.

"You stay on that side," Shilo said. She tried to make her voice sound firm and threatening, but it ended up wavering a bit. "And don't touch me."

"I make no promises."

Shilo sat upright and glared at him. "I'm serious, Graverobber," she said. "I swear, if you try anything, I'll take a needle to _you_."

Graverobber's eyes were already closed and his breathing calm; it amazed her how quickly he could fall asleep. He put a heavy hand on her forearm and rubbed it gently. "Relax, kid," he said softly. "Nothing'll happen unless you want it to."

And, to his credit, nothing had. Over the course of the few days they'd been together, Shilo had learned that she could trust him in certain regards. Graverobber was on the whole quite immoral and generally didn't care much about anything, including her feelings. But he was oddly friendly at times and even affectionate, and despite all his coarseness, he had never once hurt her or attempted to force her into anything.

Of course, just because nothing had happened didn't mean that he had kept his distance. In the beginning of the night, Shilo had very determinedly kept to her side of the bed. She didn't sleep well the first part of the night, and every time she woke up she found that Graverobber had moved closer to her, encroaching on her territory. She once tried to push him back, gently so as not to wake him and raise awkward questions, but he didn't stir—he didn't even seem to notice. Shilo eventually gave up and settled for being perched on the very edge of the mattress.

Until she woke one last time to find his arm tight around her, his face buried in her hair, and his body flush against hers. For the first few seconds, she panicked. She struggled to get out of his grasp and away from him—it was too much, too close, too fast; she didn't want this. But she soon realized that he was truly asleep and unaware of his actions, and she started to settle down. Once the initial shock had worn off, it started to feel . . . nice. His body was warm and the air was cold, and there was a certain protectiveness in the way his arms held her. But there was another side to it, too . . . it was almost as though he had regressed in sleep to a younger, more innocent being, and that his embrace was just as much about receiving comfort as it was about offering it. Shilo relaxed into him and slept well the rest of the night. She felt safe.

Now she was awake, Shilo studied the arm around her waist. His skin was quite pale even here, probably a combination of his genetics and the fact that he didn't spend much time in the sun. His fingernails were scuffed and dirty, even after last night's shower, and his hands were so big that he could completely envelop her fist in his.

Shilo's brow furrowed as she noticed something unusual. The skin on Graverobber's arm wasn't uniform; a large patch from elbow to wrist was mottled and discolored. She touched it gently with her finger and found that it was smooth. It was old scarring, maybe very old. Shilo absentmindedly traced her finger along the path of the scar, wondering what could have caused it. Not surgery . . . a fire?

"You're awake." Graverobber's voice in her ear, deepened and roughened by sleep, made Shilo start slightly. She tried to scooch over and gain a little distance between them, but he held his arm firmly in place, pinning her there.

Shilo concentrated on keeping her heart rate steady and her voice even as she answered. "So are you."

Graverobber made a sound in his throat that might have been a laugh. It vibrated through his chest and into Shilo's body. She shut her eyes, trying to ignore how good it felt. He was pressed up against her, completely wrapped around her, and what should have felt invasive felt exciting. A world of possibilities blossomed in Shilo's mind: they were alone, together, with no chance of interruption or attack. Would it really be so wrong to . . .

Shilo shook herself mentally. What was she thinking? Had she totally forgotten yesterday in the graveyard? Graverobber had been just as close to her then, and she'd even thought that he might make a move—and then it was like someone flipped a switch in his brain and he was completely uninterested. That was proof enough that he didn't care about her. Whatever he felt for her didn't go beyond physical attraction, and he was probably attracted on some level to every woman he came into contact with. She had no intention of letting feelings of her own develop, or of being humiliated by him again. No matter how good he made her feel.

Graverobber propped himself up on his left arm, looming over her a bit. Waking up next to Shilo was one of the better moments he'd had recently, and now that he had her like this, he intended to make the most of it. He gently stroked her hair back from her face. Her skin felt soft and warm, so different from the surgically-perfected addicts who sought his attention. She felt so good.

Shilo did her best to keep focus on herself and not on how he was making her feel, and she resented him a little for having such power over her. It just wasn't fair that he could do this to her without even trying. But through her resentment, a wicked idea began to blossom in her mind.

Shilo ran her fingertips up and down the scarred portion of his arm, as lightly as she could. She let her nails scrape the flesh there gently and was rewarded when he hissed slightly through his teeth. His hand paused by her face—she had his attention now.

"How did this happen?" she murmured as she stroked his arm.

Graverobber shrugged against her back. "A fire," he said, confirming her earlier thought. "No big deal. I was young."

"What happened?" Shilo pressed him, wanting more details. It was frustrating knowing so little about him when he knew so much about her.

Graverobber shifted a little. He was obviously uncomfortable with the subject, and him being uncomfortable was such a new phenomenon that Shilo was amazed. He finally muttered, "Opened the wrong door and burned my arm. That's all. It was a long time ago."

Shilo nodded, satisfied for the time being. She didn't know why he was so reluctant to talk about himself, but she accepted it for the most part. Like Darby had said last night, if and when he wanted to tell her something, he'd do it.

She slowly stretched and arched her back, exposing more of her neck to him. He drew in his breath quickly and gently ran his fingertips down her throat. Shilo could feel his heart pounding against her back and his breath hot on her skin—he was rapidly becoming more and more excited, but she felt strangely calm. It certainly felt nice, having him this close to her, but rather than being at his mercy, she felt collected and in control. Powerful and empowered. It was a great feeling. _I could get used to this_.

Curious to see how far she could take this, Shilo ran her hand down his arm one more time and even interlaced her fingers with his. He let her smaller hand guide his as she pressed his palm firmly against her abdomen, then moved it up to just below her breasts. His breathing quickened even more, and he dropped his lips once again to her throat. He pressed his hips harder into hers, and she could feel that he was hard, just as he'd been yesterday. Shilo smiled to herself. _I could definitely get used to this_.

"Jesus, kid," he muttered, amazed at how brazen she was being. Who would have thought that shy little Shilo had it in her? As much as he liked playing with her, it was _nice_ having her take the lead like this. Usually he didn't care for this kind of thing with the women he was involved with—but, to be fair, they tended to be Z addicts or whores, and their advances always came across as desperation for his drugs or his money. Graverobber was well aware of his dominating tendencies and unashamed of them, but having a woman—well, girl—come onto him like this was a welcome change of pace.

The fact that it was sweet, innocent Shilo doing this just turned him on more.

"Graverobber?" Shilo murmured. Her voice was as demure and soft as she could make it, and as she spoke, she moved his hand up her body even further, allowing his fingertips to brush the underside of her breast.

"Yeah?" said Graverobber in a voice little more than a groan. Touching her like this, just a little at a time, was driving him insane. He'd only met this kid a few days ago and already it felt like the longest dry spell of his life. It was like he was stuck in a desert and only Shilo could quench his thirst. He wanted nothing more than to flip her over and kiss her and dive into her . . . but he didn't. She was in charge right now.

Shilo let herself enjoy the sensations for a moment longer, then swiftly twisted out of his grasp and stood up from the bed before he could take a firmer grip on her. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, straightened her skirt, and turned to see Graverobber staring at her from where he lay, completely nonplussed.

"Shouldn't we be going soon?" she said briskly as she smoothed the front of her top down—it had ridden up a bit in the excitement.

Graverobber mouthed wordlessly at her for a few moments, feeling completely blueballed. What the hell had he done to deserve this? Shilo just stood there, slightly flushed herself, with mischief and satisfaction sparkling in her eyes, and looking so fucking beautiful he couldn't stand it.

He hated her a little.

"Way to spoil the mood, kid," he finally managed in tones of complete exasperation, even as he tried to salvage some of his dignity.

"Oh, were we having a mood?" asked Shilo innocently.

Graverobber stared at her. "You're a bitch," he told her.

"And you're a jerk," she said promptly as she headed for the bathroom. "Come on, get up." She shut the bathroom door behind her and he heard the sink start to run.

Graverobber flopped onto his back and put his arm over his eyes as he got his breathing under control. He was so hard it was painful. _Goddamn_, he thought wearily. _Fucking cocktease_.

Still, he wouldn't trade a moment of it. She made things far too interesting, and he'd get her back later, when an opportunity presented itself. Hell, he even enjoyed the frustration. A _little_ bit.

Shilo was out of the bathroom a few minutes later, face washed and feeling refreshed, and went to the kitchen in search of some breakfast. She rummaged through the cabinets until she found a dusty box of nutrition bars with the expiration date still good—Darby apparently wasn't big on keeping food around. She pulled out four, two of which she placed on the counter to put in her bag for later. She tossed the third to Graverobber—it landed beside him on the bed—and unwrapped the fourth. The bar was labeled "multigrain," but tasted more like cardboard than anything else. Shilo didn't mind; she'd had far too much experience being hungry lately to care much how things tasted.

Graverobber, however, chose to be more discerning. He peered disdainfully at the nutrition bar and shoved it aside. He got to his feet and also headed to the bathroom, and by the time he came out Shilo had wolfed down the first bar and was working on a second.

Graverobber shook his head and retrieved his shirt from the side of the bed. As he pulled it on, he said, "I can't believe you're actually eating that thing."

"It's not bad," said Shilo truthfully. "And I'll take it over nothing. Does Darby even live here? There's hardly anything in the kitchen."

"This is her place," said Graverobber. He fished around for his boots and yanked them on. "But she's not always here. She moves around the city a lot. She doesn't have the kind of job where you work out of an office."

"Kind of like drug dealing, like that," said Shilo dryly. Graverobber smiled.

Shilo ate her breakfast in silence as Graverobber put on his coat, fastened his satchel over his shoulder, and pulled his hair back into a half-ponytail. Finally, Shilo grew tired of the quiet, and asked, "How did you meet Darby?"

Graverobber paused. Like the burn on his arm, this wasn't a topic he wanted to discuss with her, or with anyone. He and D made it a point to never talk about it. So he opted for evasiveness. "Did you ask her?"

"Yes," said Shilo. "And she was about to tell me, and then you interrupted."

He'd done that on purpose, of course. _Yeah, you're welcome, D_. Graverobber shrugged and gave the shortest explanation he could: "We met. The end."

Shilo sighed in annoyance. "Would it kill you to give me details?"

"Might," Graverobber answered calmly. "Won't know until I give you any, will I?"

Shilo wrinkled her nose and sulked. "It's not like what she _did_ say made any sense. All she said was, '_I will show you fear in a handful of dust_,' and I have no idea what that was supposed to mean."

"That sounds familiar," said Graverobber thoughtfully. The line struck a chord in his memory, but he couldn't quite place it.

"It's from T.S. Eliot's _The Waste Land_," said Shilo. When Graverobber looked at her in surprise, she shrugged. "My dad liked poetry. I could never get into it."

Graverobber smiled to himself. He'd never liked poetry much, either.

He picked up Shilo's bag and brought it over to her. She took it and stuffed the extra nutrition bar inside. She then poured herself a glass of water and drank it while Graverobber leaned on the counter.

"At least tell me how her face got like that?" asked Shilo, unable to contain her curiosity. "I asked her—"

"Good for you."

"—but she lied and said she insulted Amber," continued Shilo, ignoring him.

"No, that actually happened," Graverobber told her. "She called Amber an ugly fat cow and wondered why in the hell the SurGens couldn't fix that."

"She didn't!" gasped Shilo, her respect for Darby rising.

Graverobber grinned. "The look on Amber's face was great. Of course, her guards beat the shit out of D, but D says it was worth it."

"And that's how she got cut?" asked Shilo.

"No. That was years before." Shilo opened her mouth, no doubt to ask yet more questions, but Graverobber cut her off. "Kid, Darby's life is her business, and how I know her is my business. I'm not telling you every single solitary detail of our lives. So quit it, okay?"

Shilo glowered for a moment, then sighed, then nodded. Graverobber thought that was the end of it, but then Shilo said, "But—"

"Christ!" exclaimed Graverobber in exasperation. "Look, I'll buy you a real breakfast if you promise to stop nagging me."

The shift in Shilo's mood was palpable. "Okay," she said, grinning brightly. "No more nagging, I promise." She even sketched a cross over her heart.

It made Graverobber want to laugh. For all it annoyed him sometimes, her childish enthusiasm could be downright adorable. But he did his best to hide his amusement under a glower, and gestured toward the front door.

Shilo paused a moment longer. "Shouldn't we leave something for Darby?" she asked hesitantly. "I mean, she let us stay here and we did take her food."

Graverobber stared at her. She wanted to leave perfectly good money behind? Money they could use for more important things? He had to remind himself that up to this point, Shilo had lived a very sheltered life. No one who lived in Crucifixus would willingly surrender cash, and only Shilo's naïveté made her suggest such a thing. He refrained from rolling his eyes with difficulty.

"We're not leaving anything," he said as he went to the front door. "Don't pay for anything if you can get away with it, kid." He unlocked the door and opened it meaningfully—it was high time they got going.

Shilo paused another moment, then pulled one of the coins she'd gotten from Ferraro out of her bag and laid it surreptitiously on the counter. Then she hurried to the door, hoping that Graverobber hadn't noticed.

***BREAK***

_Don't have too much to say about this one, really. Please review if you have some constructive criticism to offer, or even just if you want to say 'hi.' Reviews make Vespa happy. All flames will be forwarded to the ninja hit squad._


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